


Don't Bring Flowers

by girlintheYhat



Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Angst and Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheYhat/pseuds/girlintheYhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short add-on for 'Delinquent'. 'It was sweet of him to bring flowers, she thinks, but she knows in her heart that it's too late.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Bring Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something that came to me after a re-watch.

The lonely silence of the early hours envelops her in a tight shroud as she arranges the white lilies in a clear vase. They settle into a perfect pale fan before she places the vase on the edge of the table and lets out a sigh. It was sweet of him to bring flowers, she thinks, but she knows in her heart that it's too late.

After all, the lilac bloom of a bruise on her thigh had already been soothed under someone else's fingertips. A tiny pale red poppy of a bite - a mark of intent - sat neatly below her collarbone. The multi-layered rose petals of all their history had been spread open and laid bare, with the threat of thorns still lingering - something beautiful and imperfect. Kisses and words had been as soft and hazy as a spray of baby's breath. The cornflower blue and hazel of their eyes nearly lost to the black surge of desire.

A soft knock at the door snaps her reverie and she smiles at the box he offers her as he bounds over the threshold without invitation. The scent of jasmine buries itself under his skin as he edges her against the table, care coiled in his fingertips and want blossoming in his eyes.

The vase breaks when it falls to the floor; a casualty of their fervent collision. Broken glass scatters like raindrops on leaves and she tenses at the memory of the break-in. It's a fleeting, creeping vine of fear that is broken by the spell of his touch as he traces tender tendrils at the base of her spine.

She knows they are the only flowers she'll ever need.


End file.
